


Against all Odds

by SXCKERPXNCH



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:49:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9229349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SXCKERPXNCH/pseuds/SXCKERPXNCH
Summary: The helicopter in New Orleans should have been their ticket to escaping the infection, instead it led them to finding the most corrupt agency in the world. CEDA's experiments on carriers had only just begun and they had ruined the world. Nick and Ellis finally escape the facility-- but at what cost?





	1. The Beginning of the End

_I didn’t understand how things had gone from bad to worse, but I could recall the decision, despite my attempts to keep from becoming one of CEDA’s bitches, to actually seek them out. It had been a long time since I’d felt this bad and not just bad, but also this vulnerable. My temporary companions had been taken away to God- knew-where, and that thought, that knowledge that I would never be able to see them again took a heavier toll on me than I had ever expected it to. I actually… cared._  
  
_In spite of everything within my being of wanting nothing but distance from others, the three survivors I had been thrown into the apocalypse with had become far too close for me to just forget. Namely the kid, the hick, Ellis. The kid had a fire in him that was unbelievable even to me. That spark came with a genuine innocence I’d never experienced before. Honestly, at first, I didn’t understand how he had survived for as long as he did; that was before I took the time to know him. It became a better question to ask how would we, or I, personally, survive this without him. His hope was contagious, even to my cynical sardonic ways. I could only imagine him now—locked up just as I was, confused, frightened. God I wanted to make these bastards pay._  
  
Green eyes focused on the far wall as the conman kept his back to the opposing, keeping his arms draped at his sides. He’d lost count of the days of being trapped within the cell, only counting the times he was visited by CEDA members. Forty-eight times. This upcoming one would make forty-nine—and he was determined to make it the last. Memorizing movements was a skill the gambler had quick been apt to, his ‘income’ being made by one tiny slip up by the counterpart.  
__  
That’s how life worked; a skilled hand and trained eye meant survival. That knowledge made the difference between living and being killed by slip-ups. Hell, that was just a goddamn given.  
  
The steady footfalls within the hall began a counting system within his mind. Each individual step had a separate number. Though his mind was in a place of deep contemplation and calculation, his calm demeanor remained still, inert, with no visible change. A light drum of his fingertips against the hardwood floor brought a smirk upon his lips.  
  
_Three. Two… One._  
  
Just as his internal countdown had ended, the lock on the door turned, and the yellow-suited figure stepped within the confines. Nick gently turned his head, gazing up at the transparent face-mask, the brim of his lips slowly lowering into a scowl.  
  
“Subject 364; Tracking dose, 500 Milligrams.”  
  
The massive needle that had been drawn out brought a slow breath to pass the conman’s mouth. White incisors grit beneath his lips but his outward appearance remained calm without wane. Pupils remained focused on the motions of the figure, studying the man, for the piece of flesh between headgear and suit that he always, without knowledge, seemed to have. Noting the spot of bare skin along his back clavicle, a glimmer of a smile eased onto the conman’s lips. Another slow countdown began in the back of his mind, his teeth grinding with each number, tensing. It was like a card game, this routine; however, to make it continue as planned, Nick had to be his usual defying self.  
  
“Hey, assclown. You wanna tell me where my friends are?”  
  
_Seven._  
  
“It’s not that hard of a question.”  
  
_Six._  
  
“Subject seems to not recall asking the former question several times in the past.”  
  
_Five. Oh, if only you knew._  
  
Looking to the recorder the man was speaking into, Nick cleared his throat. “I’m asking you a question, dumbshit.”  
  
_Four._  
  
“Subject’s lack of judgement shows the effectiveness of memory loss from the drug.” The suited man stepped toward him, slapping the needle on the edge as he eased his way toward him. Fluid squirted from the tip as any unnecessary air pockets were diminished.  
  
_Three._  
  
“Come closer. I dare you.” The conman scowled, his eyes flickering with hatred.  
  
_Two._  
  
Keeping his limbs still, looking listless, was imperative. The man slowly eased before him, holding the medicine before him.  
  
_One._  
  
As the figure brought his hand toward the gambler’s shoulder, Nick’s hand snapped up, gripping it with a tense pull toward him, his opposing hand lifted just as quickly, the turn of the man’s hand being foreseen as he ultimately pried the needle from his fingers. With the implement in hand, using his body weight to force the man forward brought him to his knees, the needle slamming into the bare skin above his clavicle. Injecting the substance into his flesh came with a sinister smile, the man falling unconscious almost instantaneously.  
  
Shoving the suited man down, green eyes slowly rose to the surveillance camera within the room. His middle finger eased up as he flashed it toward the lens.  
  
_Assholes even took my suit._  
  
A newly disguised conman eased his way from the confines of the isolated cell. There was a hint of shock that an alarm hadn’t been signaled; however, he doubted many were paying attention to the surveillance. Many of the ‘carriers’ they withheld were far too drugged to defy them. Oh, how they had misjudged the gambler’s substance tolerance. There was even a thought that the cameras had been set up to keep them from defying their system—he knew how fake ones could be wholly effective; unless of course, one had an escape artist on their hands.  
  
The yellow hazmat suit was held an unpleasant odor; Nick instantly had taken it in, scoffing and coughing. His cleanliness seemed to be a downfall of judgment regarding the entire apocalypse, but the compulsion remained.  
  
_Just pretend you’re in your satin beauty. GODDAMNIT, $3,000 dollars._  
  
The will had been set not to gag within the confines of his adorned disguise; breathing through his mouth was essential. Instead of focusing on the shit-stink of his suit, his gaze soon met the adjacent, and parallel halls, his brows knitting together as his focus faltered. It had been a short-memory; one that had been embedded, and tampered with. Being dragged within the halls, each leading to another massive operating room; Nick remembered, and it sickened him.  
  
“Keep it together. Just keep moving.”  
  
His forceful words brought himself to take strides forward, his eyes still wandering around the vicinity, aching to find a means of answers, and more importantly, his fellow comrades.


	2. Reunited

Wandering through the many corridors seemed second nature as so many times he'd been dragged throughout them. His memory was acute, even having been in a distorted drugged state. The conman peered through the plastic guard of the suit, keeping his motions firm and inconspicuous. His gaze slowly shifted to the side to an area filled with many lockers, and a huge mound of bloodied soiled laundry littering the floor. Brows knit together as the gambler stepped into the room, hues scanning the area for one item in particular: the list.

A list of many was placed along a back table, cleaner than the rest of surfaces within. Gloved hands immediately gripped the massive book and began flipping through, eyeing the numbers that replaced names of so many beings brought to this facility. The red stamp, **DECEASED** , bore through many records, staining the book with its spoil. The Gambler's breath hitched slightly within his throat as his jaw clenched, fury rapidly surfacing throughout his demeanor. Becoming light headed was in tow with the emotion, bringing a slight trickle of perspiration to slide across knit brow.

_CEDA murdered masses. I had always had a feeling that they had something to do with this outbreak—that their tendencies were not to save people but to mutate and fragment whatever human instinct was left. They would pay for this. If I had to take it all into my hands and murder every goddamn bitch that came my way, I'd make sure of it._

_Subject 364_

The number continuously played throughout his mind as the conman's thoughts soon took a turn. He flipped rapidly throughout the pages, only to stop at the number that repeated, his gaze shifting over the pages. It mattered little that his page had not been marked by crimson lettering. He had been taken first from his comrades—which meant the others would have to have followed. Flipping throughout senseless data and to the next number, his eyes slid over the paper uneasily.

_**Belongings of 365 in locker 476.** _

Gaze shifting to the cases along the wall, the gambler moved quickly toward them. Eyes skimmed the wall, finding a small set of keys settled along the frame. Reaching with long arms and deft digits to the item, he pulled the set easily into his palm. Focus wavered slowly over the many numbers, crouching to the final destination of locker 476. His first attempt with the keys had been the right choice, snapping the lock off the frame. Slowly, he pried the small swinging door open, his gaze focusing urgently on the confines within.

The first item seen brought him to swallow hard as he reached within the small cage and gripped the hat he remembered all too well. Turning it, the truck above the bill gave way entirely that the gambler had been right. Ellis was within the vicinity; His pages had not yet been stained. Tucking the hat within his suited disguise, he stood; only to make his way back to the roster.

The next two numbers on the pages, just by the simple description that came with them led him to the knowledge that Coach and Rochelle, his other two comrades, had been taken to another facility; their fates were inconclusive.

Another itching burst of anger slid throughout the gambler as he took the massive book and shoved it from the table, letting it clatter with many items onto the floor. It hadn't yet ended as he tore the table from its hinges, slamming it with a bitter force into the far wall. His chest heaved, slowly as he crouched down, bringing a sole of his foot to the edge of the wooden table as he snapped one of the legs from the surface. Twirling it within his hand, he eyed the improvised weapon, with a slow smirk adorning full lips.

A sharp turn within the far corridor brought the conman to his destination. The small window along the door gave enough insight into the cell, where he noted the young southerner curled up within the far corner of the room. He wasn't alone. Another suited man stood within the chamber but his intents were far different than what Nick had been put through. Quick eyes easily noted blood marring the hospital robe Ellis had been forced into.

Licking his lips, the conman brought his freehand to the locked door handle, jiggling it harshly to gain the CEDA agent's attention. Pressing his back to the wall, his palm tightened around the broken table leg. Just as predicted, the man had opened the door out of curiosity, to which he was met with a swift, and forceful blow to the face as the gambler beat him until he was certain he was unconscious—or never to get up again. A huff of breath ebbed from constricted lungs as he flipped the make-shift weapon in his hand, dragging the agent back into the room before shutting the door, forcefully.

He made his way toward the coiled southerner, crouching down near to him as his gloved fingers instinctively moved to his clavicle. Checking for a pulse, he was met with an uppercut of a balled fist, sending him reeling back, slightly. Ellis was panic stricken, though stronger than Nick had remembered.

"Whoa, WHOA! Calm down, overalls! It's me!"

Bright blue eyes had widened at the voice, and only remained such as the conman removed the mask adoring and covering his visage.

"Nick?"

"Yeah, kid. It's me."

_The relief that spread across his face was something I'd never in my life experienced. Never had I been much of a hero, but the reflection in his gaze told me that was how he saw me… and if it wasn't for that, the way he moved toward me was proof enough._

The southerner had wrapped his arms around him, roughly hitting his back as the hug was given. "Holy shit man, it's good to see you."

Nick cleared his throat apprehensively as he pushed him back, nodding. _You too, sport._ "How about we get out of this goddamn place?"

 


	3. Luck

Ellis needed aid in getting to his feet. The gambler had noted quickly that despite his wounded appearance, there was that sudden hope still resonating off the southerner. In some ways, Nick hoped that he had been the one to restore it. Leaving him to stand on his own, the conman had gently patted his shoulder before making his way toward the unconscious CEDA representative. He was swift in removing the agent of his yellow hazmat suit, not prying his focus away until the task was finished.

"What are ya' doin?" The southerner voiced, his brows furrowed.

Nick stood, carrying the disguise toward him. "Put it on."

"What?"

"Put it on." He repeated. "Look, Ellis, we don't have much of a choice here; so unless you have an arsenal hidden under your… mat, there's no way we'd make it out of here on our own."

"No, no. I get ya'." A slow nod was given as he reached for the suit, drawing it close to his frame before stepping inside of it, wrapping each individual seam over his body. The conman's eyes remained focused on the young man's frame, noting the subtle, but all too worrisome changes in his movements. Ellis was injured, just being far too selfless to state such a fact.

"What did they do to you, Overalls?"

He continued to dress himself in the matching uniform, his digits sliding through the fingers of the gloves, slowly. Eyes slowly rose to meet the gambler's features, gaze wavering, lightly. "I don't remember."

_I could tell a lie from a mile away. Ellis knew that. However, his intent to do so stirred up an emotion in me I hadn't felt in a long time. I was concerned for the young man, but showing that could easily be our downfall. What mattered foremost was getting the hell out of here._

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

_Are you sure?_ "Good." _Because I can help you._ "I don't want to have to carry your ass all the way outta here."

"No, man. I'm fine."

Nick handed him the remainder of the suit, the head covering that each agent wore. Ellis held it in his hands for several moments, staring into the plastic face guard, his gaze seeming suddenly unfocused.

"Let's go." _Christ, kid. You're worrying me._

The southerner blinked a few times before nodding, pulling the covering over his features before slowly making his way at Nick's side. Nick once again adorned his own casing, his gaze shifting as he approached the door. Holding the broken table plank within his hand, he showed it to his young comrade.

"Don't get in my way." _Stay behind me._

A nod was given on the southerner's part as he positioned himself behind his comrade. The conman was quick in opening the door; each step bringing them closer to their destination.

"How do ya' know which way you're goin'?"

"I don't; just hoping I get lucky."

Ellis chuckled behind his mask, "Well then I hope so too."

Nick couldn't help the smirk that played on his lips as he heard the boy's chortle, though he kept his focus on the corridors surrounding.

"What about Ro an' Coach?"

The gambler's grin faded instantly with the query. "They're not here."

"What?"

"They took them somewhere else."

Ellis paused for a moment, standing still within the hall. Nick noted the cease of movement, but also noted the several suited figures making their way down the passing corridor. He swallowed hard. "We'll find them, El; but for now we have to worry about saving our asses or we are royally screwed."

"Do you think they're-…"

_Dead? I don't know, kid._

"No. You honestly think Coach would go down without a fight? Rochelle is just as determined. They'll be fine, Overalls."

The steps of the incoming suits brought them closer within a matter of seconds. Nick's hand remained still on the wooden plank within his hand, concealing it until it became necessary to use. If they could slip out unnoticed, it would be the tactical way to go about their escape; yet it didn't change the notion that the gambler still had an ache to bash all the agents' heads in. Both southerner and conman walked casually throughout the small crowd. Though they were addressed, they simply nodded and continued on, ignoring, for the most part, the words shuffling back and forth. One of the men had paused, however, turning to face them both.

"Is that southern kid still alive, Novac?"

Nick paused, as did Ellis. The disguised southerner slowly turned to face the man and gave a small nod.

"Wow, that's surprising. Bet he looks like shit, though, huh? I bet the guys he'd only last another week, at most; especially after the testing today."

Ellis slowly nodded, once again.

_Making bets on people's deaths? These men were no different than goddamn murders._

"Alright, so you don't want to talk. I get it. Remember it's your job to bring the supply truck around today. The keys are hanging above the dashboard."

The southerner shifted his gaze toward the conman, whom he could imagine looked just as surprised. As the suited man wandered off, Nick stepped closer to Ellis as the young man spoke.

"Well holy shit. _That_ was lucky."

"Don't celebrate just yet, Ellis. We still have to get out to the truck."

"I don't mean just that—they were gonna kill me."

"Don't remind me." Nick stated, harshness lingering in his voice.

_If I had waited one more day—Ellis' page could have been plagued with that red lettering. It was a thought I didn't want to entertain._

"Ma' always told me there was a God; that he'd show up in weird places."

As Ellis continued on, the conman's footfalls remained steady in front of him. He paused, momentarily, his gaze snapping to the southerner. "There is no God. Just corrupt assholes in a screwed up world." Now wasn't the greatest time for this conversation, but Nick's mouth got the better of him. "You can't look outside and tell me there's a God, Overalls. This apocalypse bullshit, I don't exactly remember hearing about zombies in the bible."

"Nick, come on, man."

_I paused. Guilt was seldom what I felt, but his voice had changed. Ellis was fragile, and I was tearing down what little hope he held left. I bit down on my tongue, my jaw clenching._

"Sorry. I didn't mean-…"

"Nah, it's fine. You're probably right."

_Fuck me. Fuck my goddamn mouth!_

"Look, Ellis, just because I don't think there's a God that gives a damn doesn't mean I'm right. Hell, he could just be on vacation right now."

The southerner shifted as he stood. Nick exhaled, softly. "Come on, we should keep moving."

"Hey, Nick?"

Before they had stepped outside, Ellis' voice had once again caught the conman's attention.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Nick shook his head, his movements ceasing. "Don't thank me, kid. We're still not out of this." He paused. "Now shield your eyes, I have a feeling sunshine isn't going to be doing us any favors."


	4. Escape

The gambler's assumptions were correct; the sunlight abruptly searing down on them brought difficulty in their eyes acclimating to their surroundings. Weeks without seeing the outdoors took a detrimental toll on both men, but the young southerner seemed the most effected by the change of environs. He groaned, frozen in his stance as his hand slid over his face guard, shielding the sunlight from penetrating the frame. Noting his change in breathing patterns, how the change went from steady to panic-stricken, Nick too, stopped in his movements, his hand moving to behind Ellis' back, guiding him forward.

"Come on, kid."

"I need outta' this suit."

"Yeah, me too."

Nick squinted, his gaze focusing on the area surrounding. The settings matched the outdoors of a hospital, yet had those uninviting quarantine stations the survivors had seen many times on their journey to New Orleans. A putrid smell filled his nostrils, not even masked by the suit covering he wore. Unknowingly, his focus moved to find the source, only to see the mass of bodies piled within an immense trench.

"Oh my God." Ellis murmured, his voice trembling with his speech.

The conman instinctively shoved the young southerner forward, forcing his focus elsewhere and away from the mound of innocents.

_We had seen groups of people dead sporadically along the road before crossing the bridge, but it was nothing like this. Seeing how many survivors there had been—how they were mindlessly killed for some experimental cause, it was unbelievable—and sickening. CEDA needed to be brought down._

"What were they tryin' to do?!" The younger man inquired, trying to keep his gaze forward, though it continuously shifted.

_Nothing good, Sport._ "There's nothing we can do about it. Find the goddamn truck."

After a moment of continuing forward, Ellis' hand eased forward, gloved digit pointing perfectly. "There."

Nick's eyes followed his gesture, a slow nod of his head being given as he noted the massive supply truck just beyond the gate. "Good job, Overalls." Just as the conman spoke, his gaze shifted to one of the suited agents stationed along the side gate. Within his hand was an assault rifle, one that could be used by the two survivors. Emerald eyes slid over the wooden make-shift weapon then back to the opposing figure, slowly. "Go get the truck started. I'll be right there."

"What are ya—"

As the conman began forward, he slightly turned back toward his younger companion. "Just do it!"

Ellis swallowed hard as he nodded, slowly making his way toward their escape vehicle. Nick exhaled as he walked in the opposite direction, making his path straight toward the suited man. His hand gripped the weapon within his palm, a slow breath pursing from thick lips as he crept forward, his footfalls gaining in speed.

The disguise he adorned made getting close to the figure simple, though the man hadn't seen the weapon coming until it was far too late, regardless. The conman dispersed several violent blows to the masked area of the man, smashing the durable suit head casing with the vigor. As he fell to the ground, Nick tossed the plank to the side before crouching and wrapping his hands around the rifle that had been dropped in the battering. There was a short 'click' as the safety was undone, the barrel now aimed directly at the CEDA agent's forehead.

"W-who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare."

"You're one of them—how did you-…" He paused, his head shaking as Nick used his empty hand to remove the covering from his own features. "Please—I have a family."

The conman tilted his head, a sneer pushing onto the corner of his lips. "Yeah?" He paused, pushing the barrel into the man's chin, forcing his head to turn. "You see that kid over there?" Nick only simply glanced, noting the younger southerner had taken off his face guard as well, only slowly beginning to gain his footing into the truck. "He had a family too… and you bastards took that away from him."

"I'm just a worker—I only follow orders…"

"I don't buy that." _You can't con a conman._ With that, the weapon was fired, a perfect bullet etching its way into the agent's skull. The gambler studied the man for several moments, a slow breath ebbing from his lips, his thoughts only being torn as a loud overhead alarm began to blare.

"Ah, shit…" Nick turned on his heels sprinting with rifle in hand toward the now running truck.

"What's that noise?" Ellis called from the driver's side.

"It's our 'It's time to get the hell out of here' signal." The conman jumped into the passenger's side, slamming the door beside him. His gaze moved to the building, where he noted several CEDA agents fully armed making their way from the premises, in obvious search for them. "Go, Overalls. Go."

"Well shit. A please woulda' been nice."

"DRIVE THE GODDAMN TRUCK!"

Ellis's foot slammed into the pedal, the vehicle lurching forward as he struggled to gain control of the wheel.

"What the hell, Ellis?"

"It's big, man!"

"THERE are GUNS pointing TOWARD us."

"I'm gonna' hit shit!"

"THEN HIT IT!"

The sharp turn of the vehicle slammed them into several CEDA quarantine signs, a side of a pergola and lastly a gate that led out into the open road.

"WHOOOOOOOO." Ellis's yell of excitement brought an infuriated look to pass Nick's features, but as he turned his gaze from the rear-view mirror back to the southerner, seeing that content smile adorning the southerner's lips he remembered all too well quickly sedated his rage.

"Overalls, next time when I say-…" _He was content. I couldn't take what little joy he had left; he needed to cherish it—and in several ways I found myself cherishing it too._ "Never-mind."

"Where are we goin'?"

"Let's just focus on getting as far away from here as we can for now." He paused momentarily. "Tell me when you get tired—and I'll take over."


	5. Shadow

And he had; Ellis had grown exhausted within a couple of passing hours, due to what Nick could only think being post-traumatic stresses. The moment he'd spoken of his lack of energy they had pulled over, Nick taking to the wheel as the southerner curled up against the passenger's seat. As they traveled, the gambler kept a sharp eye on the road, not overlooking the fact that the further away they'd gotten from the quarantine quarters—the darker, more ruined, the setting became. Wherever they were hadn't escaped the infection, the first sight of an undead brought about a sinking pit within the conman's stomach, but he'd expected no different.

Glancing to the assault rifle in the middle seat, he sighed, suddenly very thankful that he'd taken it. Be there a choice of fighting for his life among the infected, or waiting for his life to expire within CEDA's hands, he'd without a doubt, choose the infected.

"I thought they were takin' us somewhere there was no infected."

"Well maybe at first there wasn't—but over the months it spread."

Ellis paused at the conman's answer, a slow breath passing his lips. "Where do you think we are, now?"

"If we're lucky—we'll turn the corner and be in Vegas."

"You don't think they took us to that island?"

"No, Overalls. I think they took Coach and Rochelle there, not us. But we'll never know until we find a map… or a road sign…"

After a moment of silence, the southerner opened the glove compartment, rummaging through the truck's belongings. The paper that slowly unfolded within his hands caused the gambler to glance to the side.

"Well Holee-shit." Ellis began. "Looks like we're in Nebraska."

Nick's brows furrowed, "Nebraska?" _It made sense; a CEDA station in the middle of the infested United States. Why wouldn't they place themselves smack dab in the center of it all?_

"Yeah! The infection hadn't made it this far last time I heard."

"Really? Look outside."

"I meant awhile back. I bet these little red exes are safe-houses, like there was in Georgia."

"Good. We could use some firepower."

Ellis had paused, his fingers brushing lightly against the map "I wonder-…"

"What?"

"Well—my folks moved out here after I graduated; I stayed with Keith. The map isn't marked that far out… Maybe-…" He slowly brought his gaze to meet the conman's. "Can we go and see if they made it out?"

Nick swallowed hard.

_You might not like what you find, kid._ "Why didn't you move with your folks?"

"Well—it's a long story."

"And this is a long drive." … _Anything to divert the attention to going to a possible family massacre._

He sighed, elongating. "We were real poor; pa made a piss-poor living selling some imported merchandise—ma, well—she couldn't do much bein' disabled and all. It was hard for them to support me. I swore that once Keith and I graduated that we'd open shop and help with bills and shit but… my grandma got real sick, and ma wanted to be with her."

"And your grandmother lives in Nebraska?" _Why doesn't that surprise me?_

"Well she did. She died about a year ago. Ma was real torn up. She wanted to stay in the house after it all happened. I told em' I would send money; I would do what I could to help them until I was able to get up there… but pa… he's real proud. He didn't want none of that." Ellis paused, his gaze shifting to the floorboards of the van. "I still wanted to move up—but then they'd be supportin' me again… and I couldn't put that stress on mama."

"You could have moved the shop up there."

"I thought about that… I was savin' up for college and shit too… I thought that maybe if I got a degree I could take with me, that I could find work anywhere… good work. Not that bein' a mechanic wasn't good work, Hell I loved it… but I wanted more than that."

"Like what?"

"It's gonna sound real funny—but I wanted to be a lawyer."

_I could have guessed that._ "A lawyer?"

"Well yeah. Just imagine Nick, I could be representing you after your next felony."

The gambler's lips pursed together as he turned his gaze, slightly toward the southerner. Seeing the smirk adorning his full lips caused him to shake his head, a laugh passing his lips. "Hell yeah, Overalls. You start telling the jury stories about Keith and I'm sure they'd let me off the hook."

He chuckled with slight chagrin. "Yeah..."

"Then what changed?"

"Besides the zombies eatin' all the customers?" A small laugh passed his lips. "Before all this apocalypse bullshit, Keith got hurt."

_And… I should have guessed that._

"His folks weren't real supportive and he had no insurance… so all the money we'd made from the shop went into medical bills and shit for him."

"Did you ever think about leaving Keith to fend for himself?"

"Hell no; I've known Keith since the 3rd grade, man. He's my best friend. I'd do anything for him."

_Yeah, Overalls… but would he do the same for you?_ "I guess I get that."

"Don't you have a best friend?"

"Did." _But like everyone else, he betrayed me._

"What doya mean? You mean you think he's-…"

"No. Well—yeah, but no I didn't say that because I think he's dead. He just… screwed me over."

Ellis turned slightly, obviously intrigued by the gambler's statement. "How?"

For several moments, the conman remained silent, his gaze remaining stagnant on the road. "It… was a long time ago; doesn't matter anymore, Overalls."

"It does to me."

_I couldn't decipher the emotions that welled up inside me. Some of them were-… unfamiliar. Obviously the desire to have someone care about me was obviously so close to my calloused facade- that it scared the fucking shit out of me._ "Why, Ellis? Why would it possibly matter to you? You don't know me, or anything about me." He snapped.

The southerner studied him for several moments. "I'd like to."

_I paused. My features remained still and facade held though my insides were curling. What was it about Ellis that I felt drawn to? Why did I feel like I could share every ounce of myself with him without consequence? How could my beliefs on keeping reticent and distant be changed so drastically in such a short amount of time? Why did I_ _**WANT** _ _to be near to him?_

"Don't do that, Overalls; the less you know about me, the better." _I'd lose your respect—and honestly kid—you're the only thing keeping me going._

Ellis seemed to be debating his words. However, after a moment, he spoke, lightly. "You might be a helluva conman… but I can see right through it."

"What the Hell are you talking about?"

"This… act: It's just for show, Nick. If it wasn't—you would have left me to die back there."

The gambler's knuckles became flushed as his fingers tensed around the steering wheel. _Fuck._ "Who says I didn't think about it?" His gaze shifted along the road, brows knitting together as in the distance he spotted the edge of what seemed to be civilization. A small fill-up station was on the brink of the town. "Just in time; we're low on gas."

The southerner pressed his back against the frame of the seat, dropping the prying subject for the time being. "Well while you fill er' up—imma get some candy bars and cola. Want anythin'?"

"Grab whatever you can. I have a feeling we'll be in here for a while."

As they pulled up to one of the pumps, the gambler felt luck on his side as it still held evident substance in it. His gaze shifted to Ellis whom had jumped out of the passenger's seat, though his voice soon forced ceased movements. "Hey. Take the rifle."

A slow nod was given by the southerner as he gripped the edge of the firearm, jogging with reason toward the seemingly abandoned mini-mart. Nick's gaze remained on his figure as he faded from sight behind the doors, a soft breath passing the conman's lips whilst he grabbed the nozzle of the hose and guided it into the truck's cistern. With a few tweaks of the machine, an obvious feat he was skilled at, the fluid began to pour into the system.

The gambler twisted the keys within his fingers, running the objects over his knuckles and palm as he waited, impatiently for his young comrade to exit the mart and be back at his side. As the nozzle clicked within his palm, the conman listlessly dropped the hose to the side of the pump before closing up the fuel door efficiently. However, the sudden ringing of bullets sharpened along his eardrums, causing his gaze to snap, quickly, to the store front. "Ah, shit. Ellis!"

Just as he had started jogging toward the building, the southerner's figure fled from within, slamming throughout the doors, several bags draped along his arms, yet keeping the firearm completely stagnant and aimed precisely at the oncoming infected.

Nick couldn't help the sudden smirk that had passed his lips, watching his young comrade struggle with the items, and shooting all the same. When he had found his side, the gambler took the weapon, covering him as he gained his footing back into the truck. Shooting several of the infected down as he eased his way into the vehicle as well, he slammed the door rapidly before firing up the engine, and peeling out of the station.

"Damn, man. You'd think those zombies were mad at me for stealin' candy."

"I think they thought _you_ were candy, Ellis." _I don't blame them. WHAT WAS THAT?_

"Oh, I grabbed this newspaper. "Cheyenne Daily. I'm assumin' we're in Cheyenne, Nebraska." Leaning over, he popped an unwrapped candy bar into his mouth while grabbing the marked map. "So accordin' to this—the next safe-house is… in… ten miles."

"Alright—well let's see what this safe-house has to offer."

Five miles down the road, Nick had smirked at seeing Ellis continue to consume the chocolate he'd gathered. Obviously he hadn't eaten in a while—if it hadn't been for his heavy eating; the gambler had noticed that he had lost a significant amount of weight when he'd made the run toward the store. They'd been starving him. It was exactly the reason Nick wasn't asking for any of the gathered food: the southerner needed it.

The size of groups of infected were growing in mass, which left the gambler uneasy as he continued to make his way throughout the road, despite if figures were in his way, and many were. Ellis made occasional comments, laughing about how the zombie had been smashed, or landed behind them, obviously trying his best to enjoy what macabre of a world they had left.

The safe-house was entirely visible, leaving them little to no searching. Nick's eyes had widened as he studied the sign, a wide grin spreading across his features.

"I take that back, Ellis. There _is_ a God."

Their first evening's safe-haven was created within a Men's luxurious apparel store, full of attire and many exclusive suits that had been left untouched. Ellis chuckled at hearing the words of his older comrade, and his head shook slowly.

"I'll be damned. If I knew that's what would convert you… shit."

"You put an expensive suit in front of me, Overalls—there's nothing I wouldn't do."


	6. Scrape

"This one says 'Four Thousand.'"

"Great, put it on."

"What?"

"Put it on, Overalls. Or do you want to continue wearing that?" The gambler made a gesture toward the young southerner's current attire, the gown CEDA had put him in that was heavily stained with several bodily fluids.

Ellis's gaze shifted over himself, his eyes wavering as he eyed the suit now within his fingertips. Nick slowly allowed his gaze to subtly pass over his comrade, noting his visage, how in depth his thought process seemed to be. It confused him for a moment, and obviously ignited his curiosity, his hands pulling out several articles for himself without much thought. "Ellis."

Blue eyes slid to his visage, a slow nod being given. "Okay."

As the former mechanic began to undress himself, the gambler's gaze lingered. The moment his shirt came off, his breath hitched, eyeing his toned physique and frame, his hips jutting out with sheer perfection. Nick's tongue rolled along his teeth as they grit together, his eyes only moving to focus as the kid turned his back on him.

Along his shoulder blades were deep markings, scars marring along his form. Judging by the stitches that began at his torso, easing their way along his spine, they had been recent, and CEDA's doing. Hell if Nick didn't know any better—he would have taken the markings as scratches—something a hunter would leave in its wake as it tried to pry flesh apart, entirely. The gambler had to fight the urge to approach the southerner, to touch the very sutures that had been distributed along flawless flesh.

Soon enough his trousers had come off, and the conman had to force himself to look the opposing direction. Focusing elsewhere as his young comrade clothed was a difficult feat, but deciding to grab his own choice of attire and begin dressing himself made it slightly more bearable.

_Gotta stop thinking like this._

"I don't think I'm doin' this right."

Nick turned, his half-nude form, studying the southerner as he spoke. His lips instantly pursed together at seeing the kid now wearing the black suit, and even as he stood uncomfortably, he looked… _Oh hell_.

Drawing the dress shirt over his chest, the conman approached Ellis with intent. His hands moved to the tucked in under-shirt, gripping the edges and pulling the folds out slightly. "Don't worry about using the jacket." He stated gripping at the white cuffs of the chemise, folding them down the southerner's forearms. After making a few subtle changes, he stepped back. "Better?"

"Yeah… Thanks."

"You look good cleaned up, sport." _Understatement_ , "but there's something missing."

Ellis's brows knit together as he eyed his elder comrade, confusion matting his features.

_I couldn't believe I was doing this… but he wasn't Ellis without it. Drawing out the hat he'd folded into his trousers, he unraveled it before extending it out to the southerner. His eyes lit up—and I couldn't help the smile that had passed my lips._

"My hat! How—where did you-?"

"I found it. I couldn't grab much, but…" Nick's eyes slowly eased to his own fingers, taking in the missing rings along his digits. The former mechanic took the object from his hands, shaking it out before placing it on top of his head, once again covering his dirty blonde curls.

"Thanks, Nick."

"No problem, kid."

The gambler continued to dress himself, deciding that dark colors were the way to go this time around. Unlike his comrade, Nick adorned the suit jacket, drawing it over his chest.

"You know where I got this hat?" Ellis inquired, bringing the conman to turn, and to once again focus on his visage. "It was a gift from Keith; dumbest present I ever got."

Nick's brow arched, his head shaking just slightly. "Then why do you wear it all the time?"

"Because it's… well it's all I have left of him."

A slow sigh passed the gambler's lips as he slowly began to twist his own cuffs, folding them accordingly. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Overalls. Those rings I used to wear weren't just for show."

Ellis turned his gaze back to his comrade, brows furrowing. "What do ya mean?"

_Great. Story-time. What made it worse was the fact that I wanted to tell it._

"Well… my father wasn't exactly the 'raise a kid' type; but in his profession he couldn't be." Nick kept his back turned to the southerner as he spoke, an obvious story behind the golden ornaments he had worn along his fingers. "He was a part of the Mafia…" He paused shortly, shaking his head and for a moment, he remained silent. "He got killed when I was thirteen. One of those rings was his; Long story short… my mother decided it best if we stayed moving around. She was afraid the remainder of the Mob would come after us… and they did." Clearing his throat lightly, he exhaled. "My mom was killed and well… to fend for myself I joined a gang."

"Whoa whoa, wait—they killed your ma too?"

Nick nodded, slowly. "Right in front of me."

"Jeezus Christ, man."

"Another one of those rings belonged to her killer…"

He paused, letting the young southerner take in that piece of information. Nick nervously tilted his head, meeting the wide-eyed gaze beside him.

"You-…"

"Yeah. I killed him; didn't think twice. It turned out I had accomplished something they needed for initiation after that—and they tried to get me to join. I would have been one of the youngest members…" _They said I was more ruthless than my father—that I had more potential._

After a moment of silence, the conman continued."The other belonged to the gang I joined. Turned out I was following in my father's footsteps a little more closely then I wanted." He paused. "That's where I met Ben."

"Your best friend?"

"Yeah, Overalls." Nick turned to face him completely, nodding his head.

"Was he anythin' like Keith?"

 _Yes._ "No."

Ellis noted the short answer, his gaze shifting along the floorboards as he nodded his head. It was obvious to the former mechanic that the conman had shared far more than he'd ever thought to find out, which Nick had taken in his silence and lack of queries, consequently.

"I'm… sorry."

"I didn't tell you to get your pity, Ellis. I just wanted you to know I understood." He shook his head for a moment before he continued, slowly. "Your friend could still be alive, kid. You never know."

"Yeah. If anyone could survive the zombie apocalypse, it'd be him. I keep thinkin' he made it to the whirly-birds before they left. Maybe he's somewhere safe."

The gambler swallowed hard at studying the southerner's features, stepping forward as he tried to drown out his own thoughts as well as his. "I'm going to go check the back room for weapons."

"I'm coming with you." Ellis stated turning before quickly approaching the gambler.

Nick found it difficult to hide the smile that suddenly adorned his features as he continued his path into the far room. _And he still wasn't afraid of me. Ellis was anything but stupid, though I'd never admit it out-loud; and yet he seemed to trust me even after hearing I killed a man. Understanding why wasn't something I was sure I'd ever be able to fathom, but in ways unbeknownst to myself, I was grateful._

It took them little time to gain access to the back room, where several firearms and bullets were stationed, along with several other supplies that survivors would need. It seemed in many ways, all the remaining survivors were working together, leaving different items, and sharing among themselves provisions. The gambler planned on using scarce of what they had stationed, but enough to keep them alive.

"How'd you do it?"

Nick's hands had taken in a new assault rifle, eyeing the weapon in delight. His gaze however, shifted to the southerner at the inquiry, bringing his brows to knit together, slowly. "Do what?"

"Kill him?"

 _Of course he'd want to know that._ The gambler swallowed hard, eyeing his younger comrade as he disputed his words. "I shot him twice in the legs. Crippled him enough so that he'd…" Pausing for a moment, he exhaled. "Why are you asking me this, Overalls?"

"Jus' wonderin'."

_His eyes were soft, just as his entire features. Hell, it almost seemed like he was giving me a goddamn pout. Sad thing was: it was working._

He settled the rifle down, bringing his focus to a box of ammunition clips that would be required. "You gotta' understand, sport, that I wasn't in the best state of mind."

"I understand that, Nick. Hell, what you went through—I don't know anyone who'd be-…"

"You see, kid, that's exactly what people thought. They used that as an excuse when really, I killed him because I wanted to."

Ellis continued to study the conman, leaning against the frame of the shelving unit as he helped gather the same ammunition. "He killed your family, man."

 _Yeah, he did_. "So that excuses what I did?"

"Hell yeah it does."

Nick chuckled. "You make it sound so simple. It's not." Green eyes slid to the far wall for a moment, his hands once again coiling around the rifle as he released out the empty clip. "I stabbed him… repeatedly. It was messy… but I knew how to clean it up… Hell, I had spent days scrubbing my mother off of the floor."

That's where it came from: his compulsive need for cleanliness. Ellis fell instantaneously silent, his mouth opening several times to speak, yet remained ultimately at a loss for words.

A slight clearing of his throat was given as the conman spoke, turning the focus, this time, to his young comrade. "You want to tell me what happened to your back?"

The southerner's eyes softened as he turned his focus away, cerulean laced with sudden hidden moisture that Nick could easily sense. "Those stitches aren't holding well. I'll re-do them for you if you want."

"They've been hurtin' somethin' fierce. I figured they were comin' loose. You'd probably sew me up better, anyways."

The conman gave a smirk, tilting his head with the gesture. "Come on… there's a kit by the register." Carrying the two weapons they'd chosen for their endeavors, Nick set them in a place close to reach, should the safe-house, as unlikely as it was, lose its barricade.

He opened the small first-aid kit, finding only a simple needle and thick thread; it would have to do. Taking a hold of the two items, he held them up, bringing his eyes to meet the features of his companion, once more. "Doctor Nick at your service."


End file.
